Thorns
by AlisonLydon
Summary: Will Megan ever be able to forgive Drake? Follows the history set up in "The Seduction" in the M section
1. Rage

**Thorns (Would the Flowers Ever Bloom Again?)**

**Sequel to ****The Seduction ****(in the "M" rated section)**

**A Drake & Josh fan-fic created for the older fan (ages 18 and over)**

**A short story by Alison Lydon**

**Lead characters:**

**Drake Parker & Megan Parker **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the original _"D&J"_ characters.**

**No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Synopsis: **_**Drake Parker was inadvertently involved in a ****mind-control faux religious cult by meeting a so-****called understanding charismatic man named Cameron DePalma. He believed this man to be a compassionate soul who understood the recent turmoil in his family, which came from being pressured to find "a job" after graduating from high school and not having the college prospects of his brother Josh. ****That chance meeting resulted in the unfortunate massacre of his family, with the exception of Megan who luckily wasn't home, but had the unfortunate reality of discovering the carnage the next day. ****Despite being drugged and brainwashed like the other cult members, Drake was sentenced to life in prison for his part in what the media tagged the Marigold Drive Murders. Now herein lies the aftermath. **_

**Chapter 1 **

**Rage**

Van Nuys High School

…a few years later

…Mr. Halifax' 9th grade Advanced English class

The sun was shining through the huge row of windows on the side wall of classroom 302. Only those born into

the concept of seasonal weather would not take the sunshine for granted as most of the bored class was

doing. All she saw was the blackness in her own mind, as she rested her head on the L-shaped half desk. She

couldn't deal with _Romeo and Juliet_ today, besides they all perished in the end.

"Miss Parker," Mr. Halifax an overweight, middle-aged man who wanted to take early retirement lightly tapped

her shoulder, "Are we disturbing you?"

He really wanted to shake her, but did not need to feel the wrath of being a litigious society.

Shit. Did she fall asleep in class? You think she was D—no, that horrible piece of filth that she still had to refer

to as her brother.

"Sorry."

Megan put her hands over mouth to stop a yawn while her classmates found the latest amusing. Yep, laughs,

whispers, and stares were the norms for a few years now.

"Don't let it happen again or I will send you to see Ms. Tomlin."

Was that lame excuse of a threat supposed to mean something? She was in Ms. Tomlin's office plenty of times.

They all thought she was crazy, because HE was crazy. No one saw her as the individual, the fourteen year old

young woman with straight dark hair and intense eyes. They saw her as part of the "you're the sister of the

crazy kid who joined that crazy cult and they butchered your family." They didn't see her as her own person.

Living with Aunt Barbara and Uncle Lester (whom she called Uncle Fester from _The_ _Addams Family_ behind his

back) was a regimented existence at best. Eat supper at six, do your chores, do your homework, ignore the

press, and forget that anything ever happened.

She didn't want her family (her real family of Audrey, Walter, and even Josh) to not be proud of her. Wherever

they were, they had to be aware. So, she took all the crap. Her Aunt's meanness, at least she didn't hit, but

her verbal taunts was more than she could take, her Uncle's goofy hobby of cataloging all the TV shows that

ever aired on the cable movie channel. He kept his worthless findings in a big blue binder. Megan was always a

good student and had no trouble fooling the teachers. Except for today when she fell asleep in English class.

There was no best friend forever to talk to, only her Internet pal Jessica from Denver, who seemed to be

paying more attention to her quarterback of the football team boyfriend and less interested in online chatting.

There was something she had to do. It was something that she never could get away with because her age

was not right, but that wasn't going to be a factor any more. Megan didn't want to cause a scene, she just

wanted to bide her time. So she could do this "thing" her way.

The bell rang and she folded the corner over of the page in her textbook and closed it.

She didn't have a cell phone anymore because her Aunt Barbara didn't believe anyone under twenty-one

should have one, but that was okay. Megan didn't mind the challenge. She just started the only job she could

get due to her age and that was to deliver the newspaper. It wasn't glamorous, the walks didn't do her good,

and she hated that her guardians didn't like the idea. However, she was able to buy a pre-paid cell phone.

They were the greatest invention since sliced bread.

"Before you leave, Miss Parker, here's your last test back. You may do it over."

And why would she do that? She got an 85%. Wasn't that good enough?

It was on only a stupid compare and contrast essay on generic versus name brand cola. It certainly wasn't

anything of importance.

"Thank you."

She was not doing the paper over, but she had more important things to do than to tell a teacher who used

bullying tactics where he could stick it.

Her haven was the balcony of the high school auditorium. No one ever came in there unless there was

something scheduled. She sat in one of the wooden seats and took out her phone. Secret compartments in

book bags were also wonderful inventions.

Damn.

She got voicemail.

"Hello, Dave. This is Megan. I'll be ready in two weeks. Leave a message and I'll call you back when I am able.

Bye."

She sighed. Now it was time to be a "good girl" and deliver _The San Diego Union-Tribune_ and pretend to be a

functioning member of society when there was only one thing she wanted to do.

**A few weeks later:**

The shit was going to hit the fan, but it needed to be done. Like donating your organs to help others for the

greater good it had to be done.

The one thing she did while her Aunt and Uncle went to the budget movieplex was pick the most vibrant thing

she could out of her closet. She wanted to wear her best outfit, which at the time was a pink v-neck sweater

with a white blouse underneath. They were kind with the pointy collars and cuffs.

The skirt was denim and knee length and she settled on her grown-up version of Mary Jane shoes with a

modern shape and chunky heel. Even though she normally kept her make-up simple, today she wanted to

doll-up her face as if she was going to the Academy Awards.

She kept her hair down and only wore the faintest trace of floral spray body mist. Megan made sure to grab

her dark denim jacket and headed out the front door before her guardians would come home and ask a million

questions about "why are you dressed up?" and most importantly, "where are you going all dressed up like

that?"

Unfortunately others would know of this plan, but it was still no one's business but her own.

**Number 859213**

Megan knew Dave Kirkpatrick wasn't her friend, nor would he be an acquaintance. He also had an agenda, but

in her mind that was acceptable. They would both be getting what they wanted out of this deal.

She was cold and was glad to have her jean jacket on. The waiting room was sterile and had no life in it and it

wasn't the least bit ironic.

"Just so you know," Megan twisted her pinky ring, "You only get one chance to do what you want, Dave, so

you better be quick."

He was a man in his mid thirties with an early receding hairline who was grossed out over the liquid in the

styrofoam cup that was being passed off as coffee.

The kid was annoying, but without her, he couldn't be here. There was no choice but to put up with all of her

entitled demands.

Megan didn't think she'd be nervous, but on the inside her body trembled as soon as the door was opened

and the words, "…if you would please follow me." were spoken.

She didn't care about Dave; she didn't care about her guardians, or even herself for that matter.

There was only one goal and she had to hide her fear as every lock echoed and the noise felt like it was inside

her head.

If this had happened forty years ago would she be allowed to set foot in a solitary confinement cell with a hack

journalist with a video camera for the TV show_ Eye on San Diego._

There were more things that Megan did not care about. She didn't care that according to everyone from desk

cop to psychiatrist that Drake has not spoken a word since his arrest, she did not care about how frail he

looked, gone were his teen idol-esque looks, she didn't have any feelings towards this inexcusable reason for

a human and she wanted everyone in America to know it. Drake was hunched in a corner of his cell with his

head facing the wall, as he wore the standard orange uniform.

Megan tuned everything out. She had this moment brewing in her head during her night at the Best Western

in San Diego the morning she discovered the useless slaughter of her family.

Knowing that she couldn't violate any laws, because heaven forbid, she bash his skull against the wall until he

lied in a pool of his own blood, all she could do was keep her cool and push out the words of regrettable

defiance.

"You better look at me, you piece of shit."

To her surprise he did turn to face her, but kept his eyes on the floor.

"I said LOOK AT ME!"

So much for keeping her composure as she fought the urge to grab him by the hair and force her killer of a

brother to look into her eyes.

"I HATE YOU! YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR TAKING MY MOM AWAY! JUST WHEN WE WERE STARTING TO BOND ON

A FEMALE LEVEL. YOU TOOK DAD AWAY! BEFORE I COULD TRULY LEARN TO ACCEPT WALTER AS MY OWN

FATHER. YOU TOOK JOSH AWAY! BEFORE I COULD APPRECIATE HAVING A STEP BROTHER! BY MAKING HIM THINK

STABBING HIMSELF WOULD GIVE YOU A LESSER SENTENCE IN HERE, WHEN HE SHOULD HAVE CUT YOU UP INTO

LITTLE PIECES AND THREW YOUR RANDOM PARTS IN THE PACIFIC OCEAN! I FUCKING HATE YOU AND NOTHING

WOULD MAKE ME HAPPIER THAN TO SEE YOU PUT IN THE GENERAL PRISON POPULATION SO THE AUTHORITIES

CAN TURN A BLIND EYE AS SOMEONE TAKES YOUR LIFE AWAY! LIKE YOU DID EVERYONE ELSE'S! CAMERON

DEPALMA IS A DEMON, BUT YOU HAD A CHOICE! YOU DID NOT HAVE TO FOLLOW SATAN'S COMMANDS! YOU ARE

NOT MY BROTHER AND YOU HAVEN'T BEEN FOR A VERY LONG TIME! YOUR NAME IS NOT DRAKE! DRAKE PARKER

WOULD NEVER DO WHAT YOU DID_! YOU ARE SIMPLY A NUMBER--859213_. I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS AND I

HOPE YOU DIE IN MISERY! YOU SICK PSYCHO SON OF A BITCH!"

The tears were flowing when she didn't want them to, especially on camera, but that still didn't stop her from

doing the only thing she could and not get arrested for and that was to spit on his person until the uniformed

people quietly ushered her and Dave out of the cell.

For some it was must see TV. For Megan Parker it was her place in a never-ending Hell.

Portion of an article in the _San Diego Union-Tribune_ that was printed on the very same day as Megan's prison

visit.

_Do Cult Members Deserve a Second Chance at Life?_

_by: Doug J. Porter, PH.D_

_Reprinted from __Psychology Today_

_....The recent Cameron DePalma case shed an interesting light on the current phenomenon about the "locking them _

_up and throw away the key" mentality. Charles Kane and John Reynolds weren't given the opportunity to have a _

_second chance. Lucille Holmes is most likely to never wake up from her five year coma. If upon being physically _

_sober Barbara Jean Hopkins still praises the faux prophet from her mental institution, then it poses an interesting _

_question regarding what should be done with Drake Parker? _

_Parker has withdrawn into himself and has not spoken a word since his arrest. Do we as a society come to the _

_realization that the cult members are abused in all possible scenarios? Due to the narcissistic behavior of DePalma _

_we are aware of the daily drugging and abuse of his victims that were documented on many audio and video tapes _

_that were found at the house of horrors on Nine Shady Grove Road._

_All of this on mere possibility and not fact that if Hopkins were hypothetically released from prison that she would kill _

_in the name of her "Lord" and wind up back behind bars. It is ignorance personified to assume that Parker would do _

_the same, when it is quite obvious that the young man who only wanted to be a rock star with the requisite _

"_hot girls" on his arms was never a killer in the first place._

_This is a man according to Alice Hafer, former English teacher at Belleview High School who had Parker for a student _

_who resigned not long after the tragedy, "Yes, he was a typical slacker, who only cared about guitars and girls. But, _

_he would never go along with the slaughter of his family. It was a disaster for everyone involved."_

_Parker needs rehabilitation not a life sentence in prison. _

_He deserves a second chance at freedom. _

_If society doesn't step up to the plate, then we are no better than DePalma who took that basic human right away _

_from all of those kids in the first place. _

Not aware of the faint sound of his own breathing, Drake put his head back against the rigid wall and traced

the random nothingness of the gray brick design with his trembling fingers desperately waiting for the

disparaging sound to come to a complete stop.


	2. Thought Patterns

**Chapter 2**

**Thought Patterns**

**Cornell University**

**Ithaca, New York**

**Mid '70's**

**December**

The weather in upstate New York was frigid as the meteorologist on the AM radio called for heavy snow

denting plans as the young man from the Chem Lab window watched the "wealthy kids" made mad-dashes to

the airport for the upcoming holiday break. Those that lived locally could take the train into Manhattan for

celebrations in their lavish condos were already gone. Even the heads of his departments were already

encased in their warm homes, with fireplaces roaring, the sound of the tea kettles whistling for water to be

added to luscious cups of hot chocolate as they shopped by catalogues. The female staff should've been here

at least. But no one seemed to carry those old-fashioned ideals anymore and that's why, he was one of the

few young adults still working on their projects. Cameron DePalma was 18 years old and trying to maintain his

4.0 average so that his Mother wouldn't cut off his tuition. Father #3 gave the gift of an all expenses paid

college education to him and his sister, it really irked him that his Mother could even attempt to threaten him

(not his sister, she was naturally perfect) that she could take it away if his grades were less than satisfactory.

She was on Father #5 now. They were on the ski slopes in Aspen with his sister and her boyfriend. They were

going to exchange presents over the New Year's holiday as Father #5 had one of those lavish condos in the

big city. Presents? What he really wanted to do was punch her in the mouth. Women did not know their place.

Sure the media with its mixed messages of "women can do it all" were not helping the situation. If it weren't

for the media he'd have the attention of Adrianne West, a fellow student. She never gave him the time of day.

Nobody did. Oh, when the stupid jocks needed help on their tests and term papers, they suddenly knew his

name. When he tried to have a dignified debate with one of the female professors, she accused him of being a

sexist who needed to change his attitudes. She was an idiot who only taught art. A useless subject if ever

there was one to his young mind. At least with chemistry you could create formulas and see their causes and

effects and with psychology you could study the human mind and its condition. Those were the two subjects

that fascinated him along with theology.

"Daydreaming, are you?" Cameron turned around, his thoughts interrupted

"Hi, Adrianne. I thought you were visiting your parents."

She had brown hair in the short popular figure skaters wedge style and blue eyes.

"My plane was delayed. Don't tell me you are working?"

"Pardon me if I don't get all excited, but why are you suddenly talking to me now? Do you need help finally

declaring a major?"

Instead of being insulted over his rough around the edges exterior, Adrianne was convinced there was a

sweetheart on the inside. She always thought he was cute and her girlfriend Marcie encouraged her to "ask

him out".

"I'm shy, Cameron. Come on, it's almost Christmas! I don't need to be here, and whatever you're doing here

can wait. Let's go for a coffee off-campus. I have the key to my roommates apartment in New York City. No one

is going to be there. They're all away on break."

"Sure," now that he almost had her, he didn't find her appealing anymore, "Do you have bags?"

"I only brought one overnighter."

"I have to go to my dorm to pack a suitcase."

He didn't get the words completely out of his mouth, he just took it as his God-given right that he could gently

pin her against the wall and kissed her on the lips hard. She was either going to be turned on or be repulsed

by his advances. Adrianne put her hands through his dark hair, "You kiss good."

"I know." He had to clean up what he was working on before he left the lab.

"What are you creating?"

"I'm an insomniac so I've been working on my own sleeping powder."

"Does it work?" She was genuinely interested, which almost floored him

"Not really. I was tinkering with the formula, but needed a break and that's where you came in _accusing me_ of

only daydreaming…"

"You can just buy that stuff at the drug store."

"And make the pharmaceutical companies even more wealthy? No thank you," In that one regard, Cameron

DePalma really was ahead of his time," "then I thought I'd make the opposite – something natural for needing

to stay up for exams week."

"That's a very good business idea. You could be quite the millionaire." The idea appealed to her.

"I'm sure Dean Russell would let me sell my creations on or off-campus."

"It's something that you're talented in…"

This was what Adrianne liked – money, the idea of a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, and 2.5

children running around. Still though, he was alone, she was alone, and he was tired of his prayers not being

answered.

Adrianne handed him his long black coat that was hanging on the coat stand.

He held her hand tight, but not because he was beginning to love her, but because Cameron DePalma saw

Adrianne West as "His" — His investment, his property, and ultimately, he didn't know where the thought came

from, and was only half-surprised when it got there, when he outgrew his use of her, he'd kill her.

"Mistletoe!" Adrienne spotted the professor's attempt of putting a piece of green plastic holly in the outer

doorway. She loved the freedom of talking loudly in the halls without any adults-in-charge to tell her

otherwise.

He kissed her, but not with the same intensity as before.

"Cameron, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Come on, help me pack my suitcase! I'll even race you!"

"But I have my bag, I'll never win!"

It almost looked like a Norman Rockwell painting of two All-American teenagers running through the college

campus while it continued to snow all around them as if they were encased in a life-sized snow globe.

He called out an old childhood story, almost afraid of the contents of mind being exposed, "You'll never catch

me! I'm the Gingerbread Man!"


End file.
